


Sixteen Candles

by RavenAurelieChoiseau



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), steter - Fandom
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Birthday, Birthday Cake, Birthday Presents, Boys Kissing, Feelings Realization, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Good Peter, Kissing, Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Older Man/Younger Man, Pining, Protective Scott, Protective Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Romantic Fluff, Sad Peter Hale, Scent Kink, Scenting, Stiles Stilinski is Part of the Pack, Stiles Stilinski is the sweetest thing ever, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, slightly non-canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 20:31:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17732147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenAurelieChoiseau/pseuds/RavenAurelieChoiseau
Summary: It's Peter's birthday and Stiles doesn't want him to celebrate on his own.In planning something special for him, he accidentally reveals his feelings for the older man to Scott.





	Sixteen Candles

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to post this yesterday but it was my own damn birthday and so I got caught up in the festivities.  
> Anyway, here's the story with some of my blood, sweat, and tears mixed in. Enjoy!

"I knew I loved you then  
But you’d never know  
‘Cause I played it cool when I was scared of letting go  
I know I needed you  
But I never showed  
But I wanna stay with you until we’re grey and old  
Just say you won’t let go… "

 *

When it’s dark. When it’s quiet. That’s when Stiles feels it most.  
The longing.  
He carries it around with him. Like a rusty penny picked up on a whim he can’t seem to part with.  
  
Everything reminds him of Peter.  
Tucked into flannel sheets the color of Peter’s sky eyes, he stares through a wall which blushes deep apricot. Just like Peter's skin.  
The air he’s breathing… it’s Peter. Warm and sweet like his smile.  
The water he drinks. It’s Peter. Essential. Quenching.  
  
Stiles’ scarlet cheek rests on the shirt he stole from Derek’s loft.  
Peter lives there now. Ever since Derek left town.  
Stiles happened upon his things laid out on the guest bed one afternoon. He had come by unannounced.  
There were fresh clothes and used ones. Garments laid bare like an invitation.  
  
A red t-shirt crumpled on the floor was Stiles’ siren song.  
  
“I need it.”  
The idea went from a spark to a forest fire fairly quickly.  
A darting gaze stumbling all over the room. Every muscle rigid.  
The sound of the shower muting the thundering in his ears.  
  
He had been tempted to invade Peter’s privacy even further. Declare himself right then and there.  
It would have taken nothing to strip himself of threads and pride. Stand naked in the bathroom and beseech Peter to lead him to his bed.  
  
It wasn’t the right time. By then he had made up his mind about something else.  
  
Frantic, Stiles’ breath snagged to hold on to something inside his chest.  
He knew as soon as he did it that it was wrong. But he didn’t care.  
  
Stuffing the shirt into his backpack was easier than he thought.  
Hiding it like a sin… that was more difficult.  
  
It was the beginning of his undoing.  
  
He remembers bringing the bag to his heaving breast. The crimson peeked from between the zipper lips. Stiles had closed it in haste, leaving a small gap.    
The color called to him, like some ancestral pull.  
Red like fire.  
Red like blood.  
Red like the apple that closed the gates to Eden.  
  
Red like Peter’s Alpha eyes.  
  
*  
  
It’s impossible to resist. When he rubs the soft cotton between his fingertips, nose to cloth… he can’t help himself.  
Suddenly he’s standing in the ocean. Under the rain. A breeze carries pine and moss and then there’s the final hint of Peter’s werewolf musk. His sperm.  
Peter had used the shirt to clean himself that morning from his spend.  
  
Is it wrong if all he wants is to keep Peter close? Revel in his very essence?  
If only he could bottle this scent.  
  
Stiles can’t sleep without it now. Even so, he doesn’t do much slumbering.  
Why suspend consciousness, risking not to dream of Peter, when Stiles can stay awake and envision him near?  
All he needs to do is close his eyes, inhale deeply, and hug his pillow. Pretend it’s Peter.  
Pretend he’s embracing him like the desire that had always been inside him. Except it was trapped. Feeding his lust like oxygen does a fire.    
It took Peter to free him.

*

“I want to do something for Peter’s birthday. It’s tomorrow.”  
Scott looks up from his book, cocks his head. His dark eyebrows knit.  
“For Peter?” he whispers.  
The library is unusually empty. Even a thought makes noise.  
Stiles nods. “Yeah.”  
“Why?”  
It’s a valid question. Though he’s been helpful of late, Peter’s not exactly the most trusted or liked person in Beacon.  
The cap slips from Stiles’ mouth like a word misspoken. He twirls the pen in his fingers.  
   
“Because. Because no one should be alone on their birthday. Because he’s changed. He’s been so selfless and kind and it bugs me he’s still getting shit over the past. I wish everyone could learn to forgive and forget.”  
He glances at Scott nervously from lowered russet eyes. His fanned lashes cast a shadow onto his cheeks.  
_Please don’t make me say it.  
_  
A soft gasp escapes Scott’s throat. He leans forward for effect.  
“Oh my god.” He looks from left to right, wide-eyed and pale like he’s about to reveal who _really_ shot Kennedy.  
“You’re in love with Peter.”  
  
*  
Once outside, Stiles doesn’t deny it. Doing so would be useless.  
Drawing in a slow, steady smile of happiness, he sighs.  
_Welcome to my unbecoming.  
_  
“Yeah. I’m in love with him. Madly.”  
Scott trips. “Dude - “  
  
His friend doesn’t want to be a dick. But Stiles is sensitive. He’s been hurt so many times.  
It’s so easy to fall headlong to the ground when you’re already crawling on your knees towards perdition.  
  
“Don’t start Scott. I know.”  
A raised hand begs him not to continue. Stiles knows more about suffering than most.  
Who better to understand the choke in the dead of night that makes him sit up in bed, soaked in sweat and hiccuping for air?  
The exhausted silence that follows his sobs is not foreign to him, his cum absorbed into his cheap sheets at evil hours.    
The need to feel loved seeps from his pores.  
  
Scott rubs his stubbly chin. The words fall on empty ears. “But it’s PETER. I just don’t want you- ”  
Crestfallen, Stiles’ smile fades.  
“I know what he did. I know he’s too old for me. I know I used to be in love with Lydia. I know I was dating Malia for a while which makes this incredibly weird but-“ he raises a finger to the heavens –  
_“she_ is the one who broke up with _me_. All of you had to pick up the pieces. Maybe someone older would be good for me. Maybe I could finally learn what it means to be needed.”  
  
_Oh Stiles._ Scott moves measuredly towards him.  
“Not THIS much older.”  
Scott’s dark chocolate eyes darken further with concern. “I mean, maybe _Derek_ older… “  
  
Stiles wags his head. “Nooooo. Nope. Not the sour wolf. It took me long enough to get over Lydia’s rejection. I won’t even consider that. Anyway, he left town.  I’ve been spending a lot of time with Peter since the whole incident with the… _thing…_ and let me tell you- “  
“WHAT?!” Scott’s lips gape into a round O. “So that’s where you’ve been all these afternoons?!”  
  
The same backpack that held Peter’s shirt gets thrown over Stiles’ shoulder.  
“We’ve just been hanging out. We talk. I know it seems weird but we’ve got a lot in common. And I have the feeling he’s lonely. He and Malia don’t get along. Not much father-daughter bonding happening, believe me.”  
Worry grows on Scott’s face the longer he listens. His hand closes over the ball of Stiles’ shoulder.  
“I don’t want you to get hurt again. Malia left you heartbroken.” He squeezes gently.  
  
Like a string pulling the memory to him, the pain drags through Stiles’ core.   
He bites into his lower lip with a grimace.  
“Malia and I, we were wrong. It was steel-balling stomach aches and punishing kisses with her. Stolen moments under dark skies. With Peter- “  
giggles tuck into the nooks and crannies of his words “Peter is sunshine. He’s cotton candy and butterfly kisses and tummy flutters. Who knows, maybe pillow promises and midnight suns. He’s my summer even when it’s winter.”  
  
A car door slams and when Stiles looks back at Scott, the boy’s face is split into a huge, crooked grin.  
He gathers Stiles tightly against his broad chest.  
“I’ve never seen you this happy,” Scott breathes into his dark brown hair. “Go for it. I really hope he feels the same.”  
  
When they break, a couple teardrops trickle down the wings of Stiles’ pointy nose.  
“Thanks, Scott. It means the world,” he sniffles.  
Scott wipes the tear from his cheek with his thumb. “You’re my best friend, Stiles. I just want you to be happy. If that means Peter, so be it.”  
The feel of bone under flesh is comforting for Stiles. Anchors him. His hands on Scott’s strong arms steady him somehow, though his friend’s words have done so much more.  
  
“Can I ask you and the rest of the pack to do something for me?”  
  
*  
  
Peter Hale slides the door to the loft with deliberate calm. It opens like a wide yawn, revealing the interloper within.  
He smelled Stiles before he even picked up on the pulse.  
  
It’s dark except for the soft glow of candles. Starlight dapples the paste-grey floor from the huge windows, giving the place a naturally romantic feel.  
It’s very “melancholy Paris.”  
   
Peter’s eyes pop wide when he sees Stiles sitting atop the huge wooden table. His legs are folded underneath him, long arms relaxed in his lap.  
The subtle rise of Stiles’ eyebrow and the curl of his plump lips lights a fire deep in Peter’s belly.  
_You look even more beautiful in this light, Stiles._  
  
“Happy Birthday,” Stiles utters softly, face radiant from the 16 candles burning atop a 3-layer cake.  
There’s a little wolf perched on top next to a man who resembles Stiles.  
Stiles had the sugar figures custom made. He painted the red into the wolf’s eyes.  
  
“What’s all this?”  
A bag drops to the floor and with steps slowed Peter saunters up to the table.    
  
A snaking warmth travels up his spine.  
“Hey Stiles.” He lifts Stiles’ hand and kisses his fingertips. This is the first time they’ve been so intimate.  
  
Stiles’ breath catches in his throat as a blush rises in his face.  
“I’m sorry I broke in. Only way for this to be a surprise.”  
“Not at all. Also I never really lock the door, so… ” Peter replies truthfully.  
“I know,” Stiles briefly studies the flames in embarrassment.   
  
Unblinking, Peter sees for the first time the heart-rending tenderness of Stiles’ gaze. It’s difficult for him to not to swallow hard.  
“You did all this for me?” he barely makes out.  
“Of course. Why not?” he shrugs.  
Peter can’t hide the naked longing with which he stares at Stiles. He’d kiss him right now if he were sure  
it wouldn’t ruin everything.  
  
“It’s just… no one’s ever done something like this for me. Ever.”  
“Well, it’s about time someone did. Did you celebrate your 16th?”  
“Nope,” his head bows low.  
Stiles pats the space next to him. “Well, have a seat Peter.”  
  
Peter smiles. A true beam.  
Stiles melts all over again at the way only the left corner of Peter’s mouth dimples.  
_Please love me. Please._

The birthday boy climbs onto the table, swiveling to keep Stiles in view.  
Bold. Courageous. The decision is mostly made for him.  
_Here goes._  
Peter’s middle finger inches over. The thin flesh over Stile’s knuckles is soon enveloped by Peter’s palm. The rest of the fingers entwine with Stiles’.  
“So… “  
Stiles looks down at their binding. His face brightens at the unexpected touch.  
“I might betray my age here, but this is very John Hughes,” Peter coughs. “If you know who that is.”  
  
A brightly lit spring sky can’t compare to the azure of Peter’s eyes. Something in them reminds Stiles of  
simpler times. His mother had once taken him on a picnic. He was maybe 6. After eating they had both laid back onto the checkered blanket and studied the clouds.  
Peter’s eyes are the same uncontaminated blue.  
  
“True. That’s why I put the sixteen candles. So am I Molly Ringwald or are you?”  
This gets a belly laugh. “You do know it. Well, it is _my_ birthday. I guess that makes me Molly.”  
“Okay. So I’m the jock Jake Ryan. I’m feeling underdressed… “ scrutinizing himself briefly, he continues “and under-muscled.”  Stiles smirks.  
“You’re gorgeous,” Peter admits too quickly.  
  
There’s that scent again. Jesus. They could be sitting on the beach in winter. The air pregnant with rain. Stiles would happily warm himself against Peter’s incandescent skin.  
He inhales as much of it as he can.  
“Here. Make a wish.” Stiles nudges the cake towards them with a hooked thumb. The light from the candles dances ghosts against the mahogany below.  
  
Risking a slap, but hopeful it won't be so, Peter passes a finger over the blue icing. He holds it but a hair’s breadth from Stiles’ moist lips.  
“Want to taste?”  
_Oh holy god._  
Pouty lips close over Peter’s fingertip. Stiles lets his tongue linger a second longer than he should against that hot flesh… and Peter, well he might be moaning.  
He wonders how many breaths it will take him? 3? 5? How long until he’s done falling completely and irrevocably in love with Stiles?  
  
“There’s a little wolf on top. And is this you?”  
Stiles nods.  
It’s hard to articulate when your heart is in your gullet. “Thank you Stiles.”  
Peter spots the red eyes and squeezes Stiles’ hand in endearment. “And he’s an Alpha like me.”  
“Yes. A little Alpha birthday wolf with his best friend. Now come on. Make a wish and blow out your candles.”  
  
Peter never takes his eyes off of Stiles as he extinguishes them all with one extended, lung-deflating puff.  
His gaze is unfaltering, unlike his heartbeat.  
“I hope it comes true, Peter. Whatever it is.”  
They could have easily kissed, Stiles thinks.  
  
“I think we’re well on our way.”  
  
Looking at Peter makes Stiles shiver in desire.  
“Do you want to cut a piece?” he distracts.  
“Maybe later.” Peter stares wordlessly for a moment. He’s still processing all this. “This is a lot for two people. I don’t have any other friends to share this with.”  
  
The one emotion overwhelming Stiles right now is the raw soreness of his aching heart.  
“ _I’m_ your friend, Peter. And it’s not true. Here, look. The pack made something for you.”  
Stiles pulls out his phone, searches for the video, and hits play.  
  
One after another, Scott’s entire pack wishes Peter a happy birthday. Peter feels his chest tighten beneath his ribs as it progresses. Last is Malia. “Hi Dad. I’m sorry we couldn’t be there tonight, but how about we celebrate this weekend? We wanted to give you and Stiles some time alone to enjoy your special day. I hope it’s everything you wanted and more. A big hug from all of us.”  
  
Tears rise unbidden from behind his lids.  
“I can’t believe you did this for me, Stiles. You must have really twisted some arms.”  
“Not as many as you might think. People like you, Peter.  I’m sorry I couldn’t reach Derek, though.”  
Peter dips back into disbelief. “Again. I don’t deserve this.” _I don’t deserve you.  
“_You do, Peter. You should have so much more than a cake and some candles.”  
  
Peter wipes his moist cheek with the back of his trembling hand.  
“I’m not sure I do, Stiles. I’m not sure I’m entitled happiness. I haven’t always been kind.”  
Stiles grabs his other hand, swallowing it up in his.    
“We _all_ deserve happiness, Peter. Especially you.”  
A hand splays on Stiles’ breast. Peter’s heart swells with a feeling he had long thought dead.  
_I love you so much, Stiles.  
  
_“You’re all I have, Stiles. I don’t have a pack. I don’t have a family. My own daughter doesn’t even want to spend time with me. Do you know what happens to a lone wolf?”  
Stiles sags towards him. “Hey. Hey. Peter. You’re not alone, okay? I’m here with you. I’ll always be here with you. Got it?”  
  
Stiles loses himself a moment, and Peter can only think of how intensely deep Stiles’ eyes are.  
_I think I can see the constellations drawn into your soul._  
  
“I got you a little present,” Stiles breaks excitedly. He pulls a small box from his pocket. There’s a red ribbon tied around its width.  
“Stiles, this was already too much… “  
“Hush. Just open it.”  
  
Peter tugs on the ribbon and it spills over his fingers with a wispy drop. The top of the beautiful metal box clangs as it unhinges.  
Inside is an old medallion tethered to a dark gold chain. There’s a strange symbol on it and some unfamiliar script.  
Peter’s lips fall open in astonishment.  
  
“Stiles… “  
“It’s an old Slavic charm.” His voice is honey sweet. He's so proud of himself.   
“It’s for protection. It belonged to my great grandfather. Helped him survive two wars. I really want you to have it.”  
  
Peter reaches, searching for Stiles’ warmth. “I can’t accept this. It’s a family heirloom.”  
A strong shake of the head says otherwise. “Please. It’s yours, Peter. All I ask is you think of me when you wear it.”  
Two watery blue pools measure him.  “I _always_ think of you, Stiles.”  
  
*  
  
Stiles shakes into him in gasping silence. He looks to his lips and then to his eyes. Back and forth in what is a paralyzed fear that overcomes even the best of men.  
“Peter… “ Stiles swallows down some bile. “I have a confession to make. I had an ulterior motive to be here alone with you tonight. It wasn’t just for your birthday. I … I need to tell you something.”  
  
They both freeze in a stunned tableau.  
Peter hopes he knows where this is going.  
Stiles is ready to put it all on the line.  
  
“I’m in love with you, Peter. And while I know there are more reasons for us not to be together than to go for it, I don’t care. I love you. You make me happy. I can breathe when I’m with you and I feel free. It’s the most liberating sensation in the world, to be yourself around someone you trust.”  
  
Peter’s head slumps. He blinks back tears.  
“Stiles… oh sweet Stiles. I never thought I’d find someone like you. I love you, too. I’ve struggled so much with this. More than you can imagine. I thought what am I doing? I’m too old for him. Too bitter. Too broken. But when I’m near you, I lose all reason. My brain hums. My vision blurs. My lungs lose air. I want to latch onto you and never let you go. You give me a reason to go forward. You make me believe I’m worth loving maybe just a little.”  
  
Stiles, surprised his thoughts are being echoed by Peter, finds himself suddenly conscious of the silence.  
Leaning into him, letting the starlight play across his face as he tilts his pert mouth towards his, he murmurs  
“I think this is where you’re supposed to kiss me, birthday boy.”  
  
*  
  
Peter’s lips settle over Stiles’ with a soft sigh. They’re surprisingly soft and warm, caressing more than kissing.  
Thoughts fragment as his hands cup his love’s cheeks and his tongue continues its hungry search.  
“Mmm,” Stiles moans. It’s hot velvet and the more it deepens the more Stiles wants to fade into the background with him.   
  
A series of slow, shivery kisses leads to an achingly sweet exploration of their mouths.  
The breathless wonder of their first kiss is only surpassed by the second.  
  
Peter scents him, nuzzling his creamy throat with his nose and eager lips.  
His muscle maps Stiles' neck, just enough fang to make Stiles weaken into puddy.  
  
Hands wound around his bowed back, Stiles pulls him close. When he locks them behind, Peter crashes into him.  
Protective arms guide Stiles flat onto the table.  
  
Peter’s holding him so tightly he can hardly breathe. Stiles’ uneven gasps are hot against his cheek, neither even dreaming of backing out of this embrace.  
“Thank you for the best birthday present ever, Stiles. _You_.” Peter's crimson eyes probe.   
  
Stiles pecks the top of his nose, the arch of his brow. The long brown lashes that lay like caterpillars across his lids.  
Clinging together, as if the touch of flesh against flesh was a defense against all the evil in the world, they rock back and forth.  
They inhale as one. Exhale as one.   
  
“Promise me one thing, Peter,” Stiles begs.   
“Anything my love,” he whimpers.  
“Whatever you do, please never let me go.”

**Author's Note:**

> I must be getting soft in my old age. These two are going to kill me.  
> I can't stop thinking about how much I love them together. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it. I was certainly choked up a bit writing it. 
> 
> The lyrics at the beginning are to James Arthur's "Say You Won't Let Go," which basically makes me cry every time I hear it.  
> And the idea for the party is inspired by the movie "Sixteen Candles." One of my favorites. I also feel for Samantha because this year was the first year ever my parents forgot my birthday. Tragically appropriate I say. :)  
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
